Codetta
by brumal
Summary: Joshua didn't blink—didn't move—as Neku stared, but his eyes still said something. A faraway pain which never quite healed over had cracked in them, and Neku let out a choked noise. Realization and shame overtook him in full. He broke down. /JoshNeku, Post-Game


**WARNINGS: Major game spoilers, mild cussing, and ****may or may not**** contain character death(s). ****Please read at your own risk****. Thank you.**

**This story has a visual counterpart, which can be found on my Ask Neku blog on Tumblr, here: ask-sakurabaneku tumblr com /post/30172944980/. Both clarify each other, so check out the link for more information. (Please add in periods where random spaces appear in the URL.)**

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_Beep. Beep beep. Beep._

In the otherwise noiseless room, a semi-erratic melody of _beep_s rang out. Once in a while, they would stop, but then they would only redouble in number to make up for their lapse in frequency. Soft and muted, they were sounds highly familiar to the sterile space of the Dead God's Pad.

Suddenly, an infinitely frustrated sigh tore through the relative silence of the room, and a flurry of rustling followed suit. The room's only occupant, a slightly blurry and indecipherable mass of light, sat up and refreshed his phone's current page. A cluster of dots moved around the screen toward a single location. Lights flickered and snapped from his glowing form, reflecting the bad humor he was in. The sinews dripped and whisked around him, only to evaporate once their energy was expended. After another attempt to "fix" the display screen failed, he gave up and exited the program. He held a single digit on the number pad and waited for the phone to ring. Within seconds, someone had picked up on the other side.

"Uzuki," he addressed the phone directly, his voice layered and echoing. All at once, it was one and many persons speaking.

"_Yes, sir!_" a female voice reported crisply.

"I need to examine something in the city. Take care of things while I'm away."

There was a small pause. "_Sir, if you would like, I can go see what the problem is. I'll report back to you immediately, sir!_"

His amused chuckle flowed through the room in the form of a wavering burble of voices. "It's fine, Uzuki. I'm putting you and Kariya in charge for a while. My phone will be off until I'm finished." Though he was only speaking, his words always sounded like they were being sung. He allowed Uzuki to sharply reply with another "_Yes, sir!_" before snapping his phone shut. Even without physically turning it off, it powered down.

Fluidly, he stood up from the couch. Underneath thick glass panels, a school of piranha circled gleefully around his feet. He took a single step forward, and his surroundings blurred. By the time his foot had touched the ground again, he was standing near the Shibu-Q Heads Building.

Gone was the brilliant light veil of his true guise. Instead, he was once again a mere fifteen-year-old with ashen hair and sickly pale skin. No one noticed his sudden appearance and continued their rushed day. He smiled slightly as the din of everyday Shibuya assaulted his ears. So different was it from the muffled, crushed silk of the Dead God's Pad and Room of Reckoning.

He began to walk, his eyes alertly picking out signs of the Realground and Underground realms. Between the mincing steps of fashionable girls on cell phones slinked a Death Thrash Mink, followed shortly by a Southerfrog. Both were headed toward Udagawa. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Once the crowds thinned out a little and he neared the Back Streets, he discreetly put up a high-leveled wall to keep people and Reapers out. Short of crashing into an invisible wall, RG'ers would simply be warded off by imaginary appointments and forgotten trinkets at another location. It wouldn't do anyone much good to keep the wall up for long, but he needed the area to be cleared out of wanderers—at least for now.

The wall did its job quickly, and soon, the Back Streets were devoid of people. Only his clipped footsteps resounded in the now deserted area. A flurry of antsy Noise, however, could be found curled around hidden corners, building awnings, and rusted lampposts. A Shrew Wave peered maliciously at him from its hiding spot, and several Carsinosamps clicked their claws threateningly. All of them opened their mouths and hissed and snarled, though none of their vile complaints reached his ears. He was at such a Frequency that their Vibes would not bother him. Not that they ever did, no matter what Frequency he was at. Small fry like Noise knew better than to mess with him. He stared back evenly at their glowing eyes until they slunk away. Pleased with their reaction, he continued his unhurried stroll.

Nonchalantly, he ran his fingertips up the grimy handrail as he made his way up the stairs, eyes trained carefully in front of him. Rust lightly coated his skin, but he did not stop to brush it off. CAT's graffiti art had gone nowhere. No one had dared spray over it either. And so it remained, untouched and unaltered. For the past months it had been so, and for the next months it would remain so.

But not all of the mural was visible, as there was a single figure who was sitting in front of it. His back was to the wall, knees tucked up, arms around legs, and head bent forward. Against the vibrant colors of the street art, his hair did not appear out of place at all. The leering Ambiefox and floating Jelly Manchesters next to him, on the other hand, did.

At his arrival, the fox Noise curled up its lips, bristled, and darted away while the jellies jettisoned away semi-leisurely. They, and the rest of the collected Noise, stayed in the far glimpses of his periphery.

Once he was right in front of the crouching boy, he stopped and looked down. The other made no sign of acknowledging him, though he knew better than that. Of course he knew.

He smiled a little, though there was no humor behind it. Time and patience were things he had plenty of. He could wait.

Silently, he walked next to the boy and leaned his own back against the wall. He crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly, looking straight ahead. In this silence, he could pick up the soft pulse and bustle of the city's core. He breathed in time with the flow of Shibuya. After a while, he closed his eyes.

No one said anything for a long time, though both were acutely aware of each other's presence. There, they remained until the crouched figure finally spoke, his voice cracking with disuse and something else.

"What the hell are you here for," he said, his question coming out flat and uninflected.

Without opening his eyes, he answered serenely back. "Your negativity has attracted an alarming amount of Noise to the area. Their density is really something shocking. You're dragging my whole city down."

A moment of quiet passed. "If you're here to make me suffer even more, please leave. I don't have the patience to deal with you."

"On the contrary," he replied in an even voice, "I'm here to make you feel better."

"If this is your attempt at consoling me, you're doing a piss-poor job of it already," the huddled figure retorted humorlessly. "Now f—k off."

A slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, though that, too, held no mirth. "Really, Neku. You should appreciate my efforts more. After all, I am going out of my way to comfort you."

The atmosphere shifted sharply. Bloodshot eyes snapped up, only to be hidden in a harsh wince. He had been crouched there for a long time and hadn't been moving much. A crick in his neck popped awkwardly. He was able to regain his composure rapidly and schooled his expression into one of pure rage.

"You?" he seethed, his stiff fingers uncurling from their frozen position and complaining knees unhinging with loud cracks. Within seconds, he had gathered himself up to his full height. He wavered slightly on unsteady feet but did not fall or falter. A snarl marred his face. "You, who none of us have even _heard _from for the past eight months? You, who used us as playthings to complete your twisted Game? You, who killed me twice in the same Game and laughed about it all the while? You're telling me right now that I should be more appreciative of you because you're trying to comfort me? What even gives you the _right_ to try and make me feel better, you asshole?" Neku yelled, his voice having long ago crescendoed to the point where he was feeling hoarse already.

In the empty streets, his words rang even louder. The silence which followed was what was loudest. Painfully, Neku swallowed and tried to catch his breath, every muscle of his tense and aching. He glared. With pained eyes and vicious grimace, he glared at the boy who so coolly stood against the CAT mural with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

"Say something, you ass!" the redhead hurled at him. His hands were fisted tightly, and he was more than ready to throw a few punches. Invisible to him, the Noise of the UG started sidling closer to the source of intense negativity, though they were still wary of the blond's presence amongst them.

Slowly, violet eyes cracked open. The joyless smile of before had melted away, leaving only a blank face in its wake. He pushed off from the wall but kept his arms crossed loosely. "I have my reasons for not responding to your… invitation eight months prior," he replied at a much lower tone than Neku's. "I have no obligation to relay them to you."

"No obliga—" the redhead stared at him, furious disbelief shattering his tenseness. He let out a sharp bark of laughter and began yanking on his hair with his hand. "No obligation!" he repeated, turning away and stepping a little ways from the blond. He gnashed his teeth so hard, he thought he would crack them in the process. Suddenly, he exploded again. He released his grip on his locks and faced the other. "Like hell you don't, Joshua! You think you could just toss us aside once you're done, shrug your shoulders, and be done with it? You dragged us along a dog-and-pony show and exploited us! You lied to me—to us! You never explained why you didn't destroy Shibuya, or why you wanted to destroy it in the first place! And now you say you have no obligation to explain yourself? Don't make me laugh," he snarled. "Oh wait," Neku added bitingly, "I already did!"

Joshua expressed no sign of remorse or anger at the redhead's rant. "Neku, I am the Composer of this city—"

"Yeah! I know!" he cut Joshua off. "And Mr. H's the Producer! Tell me something I don't know, why don't you?"

Joshua raised his voice sternly to override Neku's anger. "I am the Composer of this city, but that doesn't mean I can tell you everything about my role, and the consequent events which followed the Long Game—"

"Then tell me what you're doing here right now! Is it because I'm miserable? Are you trying to rub salt in my wounds? Because, guess what, Josh? You are!" His face scrunched up, and he clenched his eyes shut. "What are you doing here?" he demanded to know a third time, shaking his head. "If you're really trying to make me feel better, then _bring her back_! _Bring her back, you f—king asshole_!"

All the pent-up rage and sadness that had been building up in him unleashed itself at once. Neku wound back his arm and let out a savage cry, charging straight for Joshua. With all the strength he could muster, he swung. In his red-tinted vision, only Joshua's calm and unflinching eyes stared back at him, his mouth set in a neutral line and chin tucked down ever-so slightly. He just wanted to make contact with that haughty face. Just feel the crunch of flesh and bone underneath his knuckles. Feel the pain blossom against his hand, against his arm, against his heart.

What followed was not the satisfying punch he yearned for. There was a loud smack, but that was it. Joshua had caught his fist effortlessly, his slim arms and frail form unbetraying of an unexpected strength. His pale fingers wrapped around his fist tightly and unrelentingly. Even when Neku tried to yank his hand away, he had very little success.

Neku let out an unintelligible scream, struggling hard to break free from Joshua's hold.

The blond's lips parted slightly, and he spoke. Even over Neku's yelling, his soft voice carried clearly.

"You know that I can't," he said simply.

"You're the f—king _Composer_ of Shibuya, and you can't even do something like that?" Neku shouted at him, now leaning aggressively into Joshua's personal space.

Joshua's expression did not change. "It's not that simple," he replied. Once more, he said, "You know that I can't."

Wildly, Neku began to swipe viciously at Joshua with his left hand, though his efforts were largely thwarted again by Joshua's swift reflexes. This time, instead of grabbing ahold of his fist, he crushed their palms together and clawed back at Neku's hand. He exerted enough energy to keep the redhead's fingers from scrabbling at him but no more.

"You bastard!" Neku accused, this time yanking on both his arms with growing futility. "You heartless bastard!"

"It is the will of Nature, Neku. The balance cannot be disrupted, and it was her time—"

"No, it wasn't!" he threw back harshly. Pained denial scrawled itself clearly on his face. "She's too young! It's too soon! It wasn't her time, it wasn't—it's not!"

Joshua began to force Neku's hands down, careful all the while not to hurt him too much, though the redhead had very little concern for his own being and kept struggling. "Neku," the blond began, sagacious patience keeping his voice tepid.

Accusation after accusation spilled from his cracked lips, spittle flying after each one. "What would you know? How would you know how I feel, asshole? You're empty—heartless! You're just—some machine, some _robot_ who toys with people's lives for fun! You were going to destroy an entire city for your amusement!"

Joshua's lips curled up in a blank smile. His eyes locked onto Neku's, and he simply uttered, "I had parents too, Neku."

At the softness of Joshua's voice, at the seemingly impartial pain he could barely discern from Joshua's mask of indifference, Neku froze. His eyes were magnetized to the amethyst ones before him.

"I watched them both go, and there was nothing I could do."

Joshua didn't blink—didn't move—as Neku stared, but his eyes still said something. A faraway pain which never quite healed over had cracked in them, and Neku let out a choked noise. Realization and shame overtook him in full. He broke down. His head dropped, and his muscles slacked. Both his and Joshua's arms fell to their sides, barely held linked by simple tension. Between them hung the sharp V of their shared grief.

"I am truly sorry for what has happened, Neku," Joshua said, faint voice apologizing for events past and events present.

The Composer's gaze followed Neku's bowed head. Beneath his bangs, Neku gnawed and tore at his own lips, willing for pain and blood to spill. He kept swallowing, in hopes that the emotions inside him would quell and cease pushing against his throat, but they didn't. The only results of his turmoil were small, uncontrollable whimpers which skittered pathetically across the silent realm of the living.

"It is not a weakness to cry," Joshua said quietly. Carefully, he untangled his fingers from their death grip and gently held onto Neku's hands. He firmly curled his fingers into the redhead's palms and rubbed his thumbs against the back of Neku's wrists.

"I know," he said, his voice quavering and cracking on the short acknowledgement. And then, he let out a hoarse sob, his fingers squeezing tightly back on whatever of Joshua's hand he could reach. The contact was comforting, solid. "Why?" he asked with a splintered voice. "It's not fair. I only had eight months with her. I shouldn't have—" There, Neku stopped and choked thickly, his vision of the grimy floor swimming. "It's not fair."

"Life never has been," Joshua replied neutrally. He returned Neku's hold on his hands with light pressure.

Weakly, he whispered, "I don't want her to be gone…." He squeezed his eyes shut, finally letting the hotness behind his eyes spill. They stung and burned, countless tears and endless grief. "I don't…."

Joshua slowly drew Neku into his arms, circling them around the redhead's shoulders and letting him cry into his neck. He did not flinch or react when Neku clawed on his shirt and crushed the fabric between his fingers. When the bereft boy ceased to support himself, Joshua merely straightened up and held them both.

"I miss her!" Neku cried into the crook of Joshua's neck. "I don't want her to be gone! I want her back! _I want her back_!"

Tenderly, Joshua rubbed the redhead's back, feeling each shiver and jump which raced down it. He minded not the tears or snot which found their way to his pressed shirt, the creases Neku's tight grip left, nor the undignified hiccups which left the boy's throat in weak gasps.

It was a weeping which the redhead had not taken to ever since he was young, when he was still four and could fit in his mother's arms. When trips to the park were frequent and full of chasing and running. When he sometimes woke up, half-groggy, in the middle of the night to his mother's cool hand pushing back his hair from his forehead. When his mother was still dancing with his father and skipping and running and chasing after them.

When they weren't always in the hospital or pharmacy. When their house wasn't an eternal sickroom. When his mother wasn't perpetually lying in bed, propped up by limp pillows. When his hands didn't recoil from the clamminess and chill of her frail ones.

When his mother was still fine and wasn't a ghastly shell of her former self. When everything was okay and everything was okay_ and everything was—_

Neku screamed.

He screamed, and he couldn't stop. Not when his breath ran out or when his voice caught in his throat, he couldn't stop. Wetness dribbled from his eyes and nose, unbidden but still forthcoming. He choked and coughed on anger and denial.

He screamed for someone to hear him, to stop him, to join him.

He fell, and Joshua caught him, letting him curl into his body and continue.

Shibuya listened and mourned with him in a serene stillness which muted the city softly. Joshua rested his cheek against Neku's head and closed his eyes.

_I ran_, Neku said. _ I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want them to tell me. I didn't want to believe it. I ran._

Joshua said nothing but only tangled his fingers into Neku's hair. He rubbed and twisted the strands comfortingly in a way he could only faintly remember himself. It was a memory he could only recall with great concentration—the warmth of a body which cradled and protected him. He smiled wanly as he ran his fingers through Neku's hair as _his_ mother had with his so many, many years ago.

* * *

"_Neku, I'm glad you came back. I'm not angry at you. It was hard on all of us, and I don't blame you one bit. Even if you think it was too late to fix things with us, it wasn't. I was very happy with you for the last months we shared together, just as we had when you were younger. I loved seeing you smile, so don't be too sad. I'll miss you even more than you can imagine, my darling. Be strong, Neku. I love you."_

* * *

Wakefulness slowly dripped upon him, dragging him from slumber gently. He was aware of being in his own room the second consciousness rejoined him. He wasn't alone. Neku hid his closed eyes behind the crook of his elbow.

"She really is happy, you know," Joshua's voice said to him from somewhere within his room. Gone was the rare, understanding tone Neku had discerned from his voice earlier. Now, it was just Joshua being matter-of-factly. The soft rustling of cloth indicated his standing up, though Neku didn't bother to look. Muffled footsteps neared him. There was a short pause. "She says 'thank you.'"

A broken smile found its way to Neku's lips, though it was wrought with spasms. He swallowed thickly.

Neku could feel the blond's eyes upon him. The Composer was waiting for a response he knew would never come. When enough time had passed, Joshua's presence disappeared softly from his room. He continued to lay there with his arm over his eyes.

Outside, the city kept living at its own pace. People went on with their day, trying to keep up with trends and not fall behind. They gossiped and laughed, bickered and made up. Everything was the same, and it wasn't fair.

Yet, as Neku pressed his fingers against his tired eyes, dampness slipping between them noiselessly, he smiled and he hurt and he grieved.

The pain was still there.

But it was becoming just a little more bearable….

Just a little….


End file.
